


Battle Scars

by JSinister32



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hannibal Lecter Has Feelings, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Rehabilitation, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, will graham needs help
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:08:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27817309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JSinister32/pseuds/JSinister32
Summary: When Hannibal Lecter, a unique member of the FBI's Behavioral Sciences psychological staff agrees to talk to one of their own who attempted suicide just days before, he doesn't yet understand quite what he's gotten himself into.The man in question is an enigma in desperate need of someone to care, just a little.  The longer they work together, the more Hannibal comes to understand that some things can’t be treated clinically, and can only be solved with love.PLEASE READ BEGINNING NOTES.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 86
Kudos: 217





	1. Trigger Warning

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This story will contain certain themes that may be uncomfortable to read. They will include mentions of self-harm, the possibility of interrupting self-harm, self-medicating, alcohol abuse and attempted suicide. It will likely be very dark in the first few chapters because of those themes, but I promise, the end will make it worth it. If these themes bother you, please don't read this story, at least until it's completed and you can see it's got a happy ending.
> 
> This story is written and dedicated to my friend Keri, who I recently lost to suicide, and anyone out there who needs the support through such a difficult time of the year. If you're reading these words, please know that the world would not be the same without you in it. You are worth it. You are loved. And I promise. Just like in this story... things get better.
> 
> Hearts and Body Parts,  
> 🤍JM

_Needing help doesn’t have a look,_   
_But asking for it always looks beautiful._   
_-Brittany Burgunder_

* * *

“Doctor Lecter! Doctor Lecter!” Hannibal slowly turned his head toward the sound of his name, the beckoning darkness of the garage that housed his vehicle abandoned at the urgency etched within the words. As he watched Agent Jack Crawford, the head of the FBI’s Behavioral Sciences department, approach with a look of exhaustion he had never seen in him, he stopped moving, eyebrow arching as the other man struggled to catch his breath.

“Take your time, Jack,” he said, transferring his briefcase to his other hand to keep it from banging into the man before him, who had doubled over with his hands to his knees in an effort to get his hitching breaths under some semblance of control. Hannibal observed every nuance through the other man’s back, waiting patiently for him to speak. 

“Thanks…thanks for waiting for me,” Jack gasped, finally straightening. His cheeks had stained a deep maroon with his efforts, his tie hanging askew where he had loosened it on the front of his shirt. A single button had been undone in an effort to allow him to breathe. Hannibal waited, unaffected by the man’s strange appearance.

“Not at all,” the doctor replied. “Whatever has caused you to be in such a state, it seems urgent.” Glancing through the gloom towards his car, Hannibal closed his eyes briefly, lamenting the quiet evening he had planned before continuing. “Would this conversation be easier to have inside my office? I’d be happy to return with you.” Jack considered for a moment, before nodding. Without a word, he turned on his heel to make his way back towards the elevator door that would permit them to enter the main building of the FBI. Hannibal cast one more glance back before following in the other man’s footsteps, letting the doors and his plans, slip closed. 

As the elevator began its ascent, the color in Jack’s face returned to his normal pallor, but the grim expression was nothing resembling his normal countenance. Hannibal allowed the silence to remain within the confines as they rose to the eleventh level, where his office was housed at the far end of Jack’s unit. The agent was so deep in thought that when the lift came to a shuddering halt, announcing its arrival with a quiet ping, the man jumped as if struck. Hannibal held out an arm, bracing the door as Jack exited, making his way to the closed door to Hannibal’s office. The doctor unlocked it and turned on the lights, gesturing to the seats before them. He closed the door behind them, effectively ensconcing them in a safe and private space he had cultivated during his time with the Bureau.

“Take a seat,” he instructed, his voice soft and low; the professional tone he had developed for patients suffering the aftershocks of deeply traumatic events. Jack sank into the offered chair, raising a hand to sweep across his face to wipe away the perspiration that clung to his skin. Hannibal turned to the small kitchenette he had insisted be installed in one corner, the tiles gleaming welcomingly in the low light. When he began his work with the FBI, they had no idea what they had bargained for in hiring him, but his successes were met with his demands being accommodated. The kitchen and use of the entire back section of the 11th floor were the first of many such changes he had made, his office becoming something of a haven for those under his care. So many of his patients needed a jolt of caffeine or some kind of sustenance that his culinary skills were put to use almost as often as his ability to listen to those within the FBI’s confines without judgment. 

He had been met with some initial difficulties, but as he proved his merit, more and more professionals flocked to his doors, seeking his stoic disposition in the face of the horrors they dealt with on a daily basis, including those who had originally tried to deny him the necessary accommodations for his services. The food and drink he provided helped ground them, opened them up to confiding in him about the difficulties of their positions in a way traditional therapy seemed to fail. The accolades he had received spoke to his successes, plaques and medals gleaming from the wall behind his desk. Although the visual was a pleasant reminder, there were nothing when compared to the pride he felt deep within his bones, each time another soul was saved from self destruction. Medical journals and psychiatry magazines clambered for interviews these days, but it was rare he granted such things. His regular work took up far too much of his time for such frivolities.

He had been so successful that he was usually booked out for months with regular appointments. He spent more nights in the office than at home, filling out case files and often making dinner within his office kitchen so he could take his time with his work. Nights like tonight, a low case load to complete and nobody with an immediate need, were a rare treat. _That is, until Jack raced through the building to find me._ Although irritated, it was difficult to feel uncharitable about his predicament though; it had been the agent’s idea that he take a position with the Bureau, and as a result, he was at the very top of his field, doing what he loved with everything he needed to do it well. He was well respected and his advice was sought after all over the country. Because of Jack’s contributions to his position, he would remain until the other man’s issue was resolved.

“When was the last time you ate something?” he asked, removing a carton of eggs, vegetables and a container of sausage from the small refrigerator set into the corner of the kitchenette. Jack made a noncommittal sound, shifting uncomfortably on the chair.

“I don’t think-”

“No, you often don’t,” Hannibal cut through whatever excuse the agent was about to make, removing a small chopping block and a bowl from his upper cabinets. Donning the white apron he always used to cook, he set about chopping up the vegetables with the practiced ease of a sous chef. As he worked, first on peppers, then mushrooms, he continued speaking, keeping his tone calm and even, betraying none of his frustration.

“Many of your agents neglect themselves to the point of dehydration and starvation for their dedication to their work,” he admonished. “I would like to believe that the head of their department would heed the advice of the man who so often has to remind him to come in for his monthly evaluation that he tries to miss, by setting a good example by remembering to eat.” He turned to find Jack staring at him, contrite. Feeling vindicated for the time being, he turned back to his task.

“Now,” he said, cracking four eggs into the bowl, “when was the last time you ate a proper meal?” Jack remained silent, unwilling to admit that it hadn’t been today, or likely several days before.

“That’s what I thought. I am going to make you a quick protein scramble, and will brew some real coffee, not that swill in the break room that tries to pass itself off as coffee. Once you’ve gotten some fuel in your body, you can tell me what has you so distressed.” Hannibal continued to cook, stopping only to fill his kettle with water. The wine and liver in his own kitchen forgotten, he cooked enough for them both. The haunted look in Jack’s eyes said they might be there a while.

***

“Do you remember Will Graham?” Jack asked, lifting his coffee cup to his lips to drain what remained inside. Hannibal had fed them both a simple but nutritious fare of their eggs with a side of fruit. He had also supplied them with enough premium coffee to make any wrong in the world fade away to nothing. Jack’s voice had returned to it’s normal controlled rumble, low and gravelly enough to sound like thunder when he spoke. Leaning back into the comfort of his chair, Hannibal mentally rifled through the many faces he had met within his time with the FBI, trying in vain to put the familiar sounding name to the correct visage.

“The name sounds familiar, but I’m afraid you’ll have to give me more details,” he replied. Jack placed his cup on the table beside him before fishing his phone from his jacket pocket. He unlocked it and flipped through the menus on the screen to a picture, handing it over for Hannibal to view. The doctor took the phone, lowering his eyes to the image presented to him. 

It took everything in him not to react. Instead, he drank in the features of the man in the picture, noting his pained, expressive eyes to the sharp line of his jaw, the unruly mop of dark hair to the curve of his lips. _A venerable feast for the eyes,_ his mind supplied unhelpfully. Finally, after wrestling his expression back under control, he handed back the phone, nodding.

“I have seen him in the building, yes,” he replied, congratulating himself on his dismissive tone. “He lectures, correct?” Jack nodded, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“For the most part, yes. He’s not an FBI agent, but teaches the methods of crime scene investigation and psychoanalysis. He once used to work the field, but in recent years has relegated himself to the podium unless I’m in need of his assistance.” 

“What assistance can he provide?” Hannibal asked, draining his own cup of coffee.

“He… ” Jack sighed, trying to find the words to explain Will’s gifts. “He has a unique… gift, ability, something. Superpower, maybe. He can walk through a crime scene, and become the person that committed the crime. He can recreate it down to the most minute detail, and build the case from the beginning forward. He’s helped me put more men behind bars than all the other agents combined.”

Hannibal thought back to his brief interactions with the man in the photograph, the quiet voice, their conversations completely and inexplicably devoid of eye contact. _Now I understand his steadfast avoidance of my office. If I had such talents, I would not want anybody traipsing through my mind either._

“He’s an empath,” Hannibal replied. A wave of unease passed over him at the thought. _It is not a gift I would wish upon anyone in this line of work, especially within the violent crimes sector._ Jack nodded, his eyes fixed on a spot on the floor.

“Yes,” he murmured. “I’ve heard it described as such. He can assume anyone’s point of view, and he does it better than anybody else that I’ve worked with. And he’s never wrong.” Jack smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “He’s even bagged us a couple of serial killers on the board, men that did such terrible things, they’d give you nightmares if you could sleep.” Hannibal crossed his foot over his knee, steepling his fingers beneath his chin, deep in thought. _You might be surprised on what I find terrible, Agent Crawford. Just ask the liver in my kitchen at home._ Shaking his head to clear the thought, he sighed.

“What has happened to him, Jack?” The agent shifted uncomfortably, dropping his gaze to the floor.

“He tried to commit suicide three days ago. He’s in the hospital.” Hannibal’s eyes widened and he leaned forward unconsciously _. Suicide?_

“What method did he attempt?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even. Jack met his gaze, his own filled with a deep and disquieting pain.

“Medication,” he replied, the word heavy on his lips. “Prescription of some sort. He takes it for anxiety. He took the whole bottle, mixed it with a sleep aid and downed the cocktail with a half bottle of whiskey.” Hannibal's heart thumped hard in his chest. He took a moment to compose himself, and mentally calculated the amount of time the profiler would have been safe after taking such a combination.

“I see,” he said faintly. “And… how soon after ingestion was he found?” Jack smiled grimly.

“Within hours. He was expected on a case and one of our forensics team drove out to collect him. She found him unconscious and barely holding on, tucked into bed.” He snorted, but not as if it was funny. “It was as if he didn’t want the indignity of a splayed corpse.” Jack ran a hand through his hair, his fingers trembling. 

“He’s been sedated and is in detox for the medication as we speak.” Hannibal didn’t speak, but thought back to the picture Jack had shown him; the crown of wild curls, the soft, mistrusting eyes, the set jaw graced with stubble more likely there from absentmindedness instead of a fashion choice. _What drove you to such an act, Mr. Graham? And why couldn_ _’t you speak with someone about what you were experiencing?_

“I believe we are coming to the part of this tale where you explain to me the role you wish me to play,” Hannibal murmured. “Am I correct in my assumption?” Jack nodded.

“Will currently refuses talk with anybody about what’s going on with him. He’s been in the hospital for days, barely eating or drinking, and he’s been almost completely uncommunicative. He won’t even acknowledge the staff when they come to check his vitals.” Jack leaned back in his chair, unable to meet Hannibal’s gaze. “They want to put him under psychiatric evaluation,” he continued, “ but I know the head psychiatrist there, and I don’t trust that he has Will’s best interests in mind. He’s often tried to get in to our offices to speak with him, and Will always refuses. He doesn’t want to be an experiment or a test subject, and that’s exactly what will happen if Doctor Chilton gets his hands on him.” Hannibal stroked his chin, thoughtful. _Mm. Chilton. A name I haven_ _’t had to contend with in some time._

“Let me ensure I understand your request. You’d like me to speak with Will, see if I can convince him to… what, exactly? Concede to therapeutic sessions with me?” Jack nodded. 

“That would be ideal,” he replied, gesturing around Hannibal’s office. “Look what you’ve done for the other members of the Bureau in the year that you’ve been here. Hell, you’ve even convinced leadership to let you have a kitchen installed.” Jack leaned forward, his eyes pleading. “We’ve thrived under your care Doctor Lecter, and I believe Will could too, if he’d give you the chance to help him. But he needs… convincing.” Hannibal sighed and shook his head.

“I cannot force someone to let me treat them, Jack. It’s unethical at the very least. Plus, I can’t even get you to come in once a month, let alone help someone who so obviously doesn’t want to be helped.” He paused, recalling the pain etched into the shy, blue eyes in the photograph. “I would be happy to be of assistance if I thought I could be, but in this case-”

“Could you just talk to him?” Jack interrupted. “Stop by the hospital. Chat with him. See what he has to say, if he says anything at all. Maybe he doesn’t know that he can be helped. Maybe nobody has really tried.” Hannibal snorted, standing to collect their coffee cups.

“Perhaps… but I have to ask,” he said, his back to the other man as he rinsed their dishes. “Are you attempting to get him help because you want him to be better, or are you doing to to assuage your own guilty conscience?” Jack remained silent for so long, Hannibal thought for a moment that he left.

“Both.” The reply was so quiet, the doctor couldn’t be sure he actually heard it.

“Excuse me?” he said, drying his hands.

“Both,” Jack repeated sullenly. “I… I haven’t done right by him, Hannibal. I haven’t given his emotions and what his abilities do to him the proper attention that I should have. I need someone to help him, because I can’t let him get lost in the shit I make him deal with on my account.” Jack picked up a pillow from the pile on the long couch beside him, pulling at the strings along the edge. 

“He was safe from me for years,” he continued, his voice still low. “He took up a teaching post so he could help others do what he himself did. Help them see what he could see. He wanted to be left to the safety of where he was and I took it away from him. I want him… need him to know that I don’t value others more than I do him.” Jacks voice caught on the last words, the sound painfully dragged from his throat. _Not used to admitting you are wrong. Progress. Painful, but progress nonetheless._

“I cannot guarantee I will be able to help him,” Hannibal said, gently. “He may not be receptive to my offer of treatment. Many people who attempt suicide do so as a cry for intervention, but if Will is so trapped within his head by the monsters to which you expose him, he may not allow me to help him find a way to escape them.” Jack looked up, his eyes glittering with what appeared to be unshed tears.

“I can’t let him do this to himself, Hannibal,” he replied. “I can’t let him let it eat him up on the inside.” Hannibal sighed and closed his eyes, knowing he had already come to a decision. _God help me._

“I will speak with him, Jack,” he said, resigned. “I make no promises-” Jack didn’t let him finish.

“Thank you, Doctor. Thank you so much. I can’t tell you how relieved-” Hannibal raised his hand, cutting off the stream of words from the other man’s mouth.

“I cannot promise he will speak with me, Jack. I promise I will visit him tomorrow, and perhaps I can determine if I will be able to help him through his traumas. But if he refuses to speak with me,” he warned, “there will be nothing I can do.” Jack’s face opened, relaxing into a calm, determined mask that hid his anxiety so well, Hannibal had to wonder if it had ever been there. 

“He won’t refuse you,” he replied fiercely. “I will visit him tomorrow and let him know you are coming.” Hannibal nodded.

“That will be fine.” He crossed to his desk, flipping open his calendar to the following afternoon. “It looks like you got lucky, Jack. I’ve got most of the afternoon available tomorrow. Let’s say one o’clock?” Jack nodded enthusiastically. 

“That will be just fine,” he said, relief plain in his voice. “Thank you again, Hannibal. I really appreciate your willingness to try and help.” Hannibal smiled, and held his hand out for Jack to shake. The agent took it briefly. They gathered their coats and closed up Hannibal’s office, making their way back downstairs to the garage.

“Thank me after I’ve had my first conversation with Will,” he said as they parted ways. “And if I can help him, you will owe me a substantial favor, Agent.” Jack grinned and bowed his head in Hannibal’s direction as they made their way to their vehicles.

“Name your price, Doctor Lecter. Whatever it is, it won’t be enough.”

 _No_ , thought Hannibal dismally. _It most certainly won't._


	2. Initial Observations

_Hope is being able to see_   
_That there is light_   
_Despite all of the darkness._   
_-Desmond Tutu_

* * *

Hannibal pulled into the parking lot of the hospital, his stomach tightening uncomfortably in anticipation. He had never liked hospitals; low and formidable buildings riddled with the sick, the dying, and the desperate loved ones there to ensure that everything that can be done was being taken into consideration. The long hours he had worked within the sterile walls so much like the ones that loomed before him crashed back into his memories with the force of a bullet train. He saw himself, medical chart in hand with the telltale dark smudges of no sleep beneath his eyes, crossing from room to room in a desperate hope that the work he managed throughout the day would make a difference in the people he treated. _How many of you were better off from my care?_ He wondered, staring up that the building before him. _How many ended up right back within the confines of the healthcare system within weeks? There were only so many that cared as much as I did while treating the physical body._

Shaking his head to clear the disconcerting memories, he pulled into the closest parking spot and stepped from his car, collecting the small box and his briefcase before locking the door. The wind had picked up on his drive, a winter storm already filling the skies with dark clouds pregnant with snow. Hannibal pulled the collar to his overcoat up to stave off the chill and made his way quickly to the double doors of the building before him, shutting out the worst of what was to come.

He stepped through the sliding glass doors and made his way to the reception desk. The woman behind the desk looked up, startled by his sudden appearance, her watery brown eyes at once filling with a warmth very likely indicating that initial spark of interest in him. Hannibal suppressed a shudder, trying to prevent himself from finding the entire experience disconcerting. Physical attraction often ceased to hold his attention for long; it was substance that mattered, and he could tell at a glance that the woman behind the counter, her hair in a messy bun and lipstick on her teeth, would be about as interesting as a wet blanket. Inwardly sighing, he lifted his lips in his most professional smile and closed the distance between the desk and the door in a few long strides.

“Hello, Darlene” he offered in greeting, taking in the name printed on a tag displayed on her ill fitting bright turquoise scrubs. “I wonder if you might direct me to the room of a patient. This is my first time visiting since he’s been admitted.” The woman returned his smile warmly, the red on her teeth more prominent up close. Hannibal suppressed a shudder, and lifted his gaze to her eyes instead.

“Sure thing, honey,” she said amiably, her voice bright and grating. “Patient’s name?”

“Will Graham.” Long scarlet nails typed into the computer as she pulled up the roster of patients with practiced ease. Her brow furrowed as she read through the notes on his chart. She turned away from the screen, her face already falling into apologetic lines.

“Says here he’s not taking visitors except his boss and some psychiatrist,” she informed him. “I don’t suppose you’re one of those?” Hannibal smiled gently.

“Is the name listed beneath Agent Crawford’s Hannibal Lecter, by any chance?” he asked, withdrawing his wallet to remove his identification. She nodded, her honey colored eyes sparkling behind her reading glasses. Hannibal offered out his ID for her scrutiny. 

“Looks like you’re my man, Doctor Lecter,” she replied, clearing the top of the counter to reveal a hospital map. One taloned finger tapped the location marked ‘You Are Here’. Hannibal stared at it for a moment, amused. _Not for long, if my luck continues to hold,_ he thought. “Your patient is up on the fourth floor, psychiatric holds,” she continued. “Take the hall before us to the elevators on the right side up. Make two immediate lefts, all the way down the hall. Last door on the right hand side, number 416. Got it?” Hannibal nodded.

“Thank you for your assistance,” he said cordially. “Have a pleasant rest of your afternoon.” Hannibal collected his briefcase and spun on a heel, heading for the elevators without glancing back. Darlene picked up the magazine she had been perusing with all the voraciousness of a wildcat and fanned herself in an attempt to cool her flushed face. _Made all the more pleasant by your presence, handsome,_ she thought. _Hope to see you again real soon._

***

“I’m not talking to anyone, Jack,” came a cry from down the hall. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, assuming you could force it on me!” Hannibal approached slowly, his stomach sinking as the words shouted by both parties became clearer. Jack shot back a low and short reply, the rumble of his voice thunderous in the cramped hospital hallway, echoing off the walls loud enough to scatter the nurses attempting to listen in. The doctor didn’t slow his pace, willing himself to continue as if they were not fighting. _It can_ _’t be helped at this point. We will have to take it as it comes._

He paused momentarily outside of the door, knocking loudly before entering. Two faces turned in his direction, both flushed with anger. Jack had broken out in a light sweat, his forehead beaded with moisture as he attempted to rein in his obvious annoyance at the man in the bed. Will, on the other hand, looked exhausted, weaker than Hannibal had ever seen him. His hair hung limply around his face, his startlingly blue eyes dull as dusty marbles. Hannibal made a mental note to look at the list of medication prescribed to him before leaving to ensure all was well. _Better safe than sorry knowing Chilton as I do,_ he thought darkly.

Striding into the room, the doctor removed his overcoat, placing it gently onto the desk in the far corner. Depositing his briefcase and the box next to it, he turned back towards the two men, who were now watching him with trepidation. He leaned back into the counter, choosing to fastidiously ignore the tension that still hung in the air of the room like a lingering perfume. Turning towards Jack, he smiled, holding out a hand.

“Thank you for being here Jack,” he said in greeting as they shook. “I appreciate you taking the time out of your schedule to meet me. Will and I have much to discuss, and I believe we can take it from here.” The agent’s eyebrows rose comically, disbelief painted across his features. His hands tightened reflexively at his sides, but Hannibal stood his ground, holding the other man’s stormy gaze as he fought to keep a smile from his lips. _He didn_ _’t expect to be told to exit the room,_ he realized _. Thought he_ _’d sit in and listen to a scolding. Not today, my friend._ Will watched the scene before him unfold impassively, his head dropping back onto the mountain of pillows propped up behind him. Hannibal stole a glance at him and, much to his disbelief, his heart contracted slightly, the unfamiliar sensation throwing him off balance. It was all he could do to keep from clutching his chest, even as their eye contact broke. Hannibal felt the loss of their gaze with an almost physical pain. _What on Earth was that about?_

“Jack,” he said, his eyes completely focused on the agent once again. “May I speak with you in private for a moment, please?” Jack stared at him for a beat, then nodded, moving past him and into the hallway. Hannibal cast a brief, curious glance back to the figure on the bed before following the agent. Will’s eyes were still closed, much to the doctor’s relief.

“What the hell are you doing, Hannibal?” Jack asked, rounding on him once they were clear of the room. “You said you wanted me to tell him that you were coming to speak with him, then you get here and-” Hannibal laid a hand on the other man’s shoulder, bringing his restless pacing to a halt. 

“I appreciate that what I said and what I’m asking of you now is confusing and feels contradictory,” Hannibal replied soothingly. “However, after half of the staff and most of the patients on this floor, and possibly the one below, heard you two bellow at one another, I believe it’s in Will’s best interest if I speak with him alone.” Jack opened his mouth to retort, but Hannibal raised a hand, silencing whatever words were about to spill out into the hall.

“You asked me to help him,” he said quietly. “I cannot do that if he’s so agitated from his encounter with you.” Jack glanced down, embarrassed.

“I suppose I could have handled his stubbornness with more grace,” he admitted sheepishly. “I just… I want him to be okay.” Hannibal nodded sympathetically, squeezing his shoulder briefly. 

“Then let me try and help him,” he replied. Jack nodded and took a deep breath, collecting himself before stepping back into the room. Hannibal waited in the hall, listening.

“I’m going to let you and Doctor Lecter become more acquainted,” Jack said. He picked up his overcoat and slid it over his shoulders, buttoning it to the throat. “I’ll visit again in a few days. If you need anything-”

“I’ll reach out,” came the tired reply. Thank you for coming by, Jack.” Jack strode from the room, pausing to regard Hannibal briefly.

“Good luck, Doctor Lecter,” he said. Hannibal nodded. Jack turned away and made his way down the hall. The other man watched him until he was gone, only then turning to the doorway before him _._

_***_

Hannibal once again entered Will’s hospital room and made his way to where he had laid his belongings. The tension had yet to dissipate, but it wasn’t uncommon in his profession. Ignoring Will’s decision to remain silent, he busied himself with the clasps of his bag, removing the sealed container from within. Leaving the bag where it was, Hannibal turned back to the man on the bed, holding the box up to him with a small smile.

“Forgive me for my ignorance to your dietary preferences,” he said, “but I thought you’d might like a proper meal instead of the dreary fare the hospital so often provides.” Hannibal placed the box down on Will’s tray, gesturing for him to open it. “Because I wasn’t sure what you would prefer, I made you my favorite comfort food instead.” Will eyed the box distrustfully before reaching for the lid. Hannibal sighed inwardly, but composed his features into a polite, disinterested mask. Will finally managed to remove the top, peering inside. The now open space revealed within it a heavily crusted grilled cheese sandwich, freshly prepared just as Hannibal had been leaving his office. Beneath it lay a bowl of fresh tomato soup, the dish still steaming when the compartment was removed. Will’s nostrils flared slightly as he inhaled the scent of the food, his eyes softening into hunger. Hannibal retrieved a spoon from his bag, placing it before the other man.

“You are welcome to begin eating while I source you a fresh pitcher of water,” he murmured. “Is there anything else you need at this moment?” Will shook his head, surprise plain on his face. 

“Why-” Hannibal shook his head, gesturing to the fare before him.

“Questions later. Eat while it’s still hot. I’ll be just a moment.” He disappeared down the hall, returning moments later with a pitcher of ice water and a fresh cup. He carefully poured Will a drink, setting it on the tray next to the food. Will picked up the spoon and filled it with the rich soup, eyes closing appreciatively as his lips closed over the metal. When he took a bite of the grilled cheese, a low hum emitted from his throat, staining his cheeks crimson in his sudden embarrassment. He glanced in Hannibal’s direction, but much to his relief, the doctor was busy collecting his briefcase, unaware of the sounds he had just made.

Hannibal took up residence in the seat next to the profiler’s bed and watched him eat for a moment, his eyes taking in Will’s obvious enjoyment with warm, delighted eyes. Will tried not to feel self conscious, but beneath Hannibal’s scrutiny, it was almost impossible to keep his embarrassment at his hunger from his face. They sat in silence as Will ate, and as his stomach filled, he gradually relaxed. At last, the meal was consumed and Will set down his spoon with a sigh, closing his eyes in contentment. Some of the color had returned to his face, the light in his eyes bright and curious once more. Hannibal removed his notepad, crossing his ankle over his knee so he had a surface to prop it up while he wrote. His pant leg pulled up enough to reveal tasteful argyle socks the same cobalt as the shirt he was wearing, but as Will stared, fascinated, he realized they also contained a small, faint pattern of bright yellow ducks. Trying not to smile, he raised his eyes to meet the gaze of the man before him.

“Thank you for the soup,” he said. His voice came out rough from his previous shouting match with Jack, brining another bright flush to his cheeks. Clearing his throat he began again. “The food here is almost as depressing as landing in the hospital in the first place.” Hannibal nodded, studying his face, his own features closed and unreadable. There was a long pause before he spoke.

“I would be happy to bring you another meal, should you choose to allow me to return,” he replied amiably, twirling his pen in his fingers. “I’d be happy to take any requests you may have, on one condition.” Will raised an eyebrow in question. Hannibal smiled, leaning into the arm of the uncomfortable chair. “When you no longer have need of this place, you’ll allow me to cook for you in my office while we continue your treatment.” Will’s eyes widened, but he didn’t respond, unsure of what to say. Hannibal glanced down at the notebook, taking a moment to collect his thoughts.

“Did Jack explain to you who I am?” Will shook his head, but again remained silent, watching warily as Hannibal wrote on the notepad. _Refusal to communicate unless feeling threatened. Consistency and calm both necessary for patient to feel any sense of comfort and safety._

“In that case, allow me to introduce myself,” he continued, meeting Will’s cerulean gaze. The profiler held his eyes for a moment before glancing away. Hannibal made another quick note before continuing. _Not fond of eye contact. Investigate further when patient is more comfortable talking._

“My name is Hannibal Lecter. While we have not been formally introduced, we share the same floor within the FBI. I am the head psychiatrist for your unit, specializing in stabilizing officers who have difficulty with understanding and processing traumatic events.” He leaned forward, his voice low and smooth as honey, watching as Will visibly relaxed into the soothing cadence of his words. “Agent Crawford said you had an incident, and explained to me in the broadest terms possible what you’ve experienced. I would very much like to understand what it is that happened, and help you confront the underlying root causes of your-”

“I tried to kill myself,” Will blurted out, his voice trembling. “Did Jack tell you that?” Hannibal blinked, surprised, but eventually nodded, leaning back into his chair once more.

“I’m aware of how you ended up here,” he responded. “But it isn’t what we need to discuss now.” Hannibal glanced around, noting the small pile of well worn paperbacks on the table, a pair of glasses folded on top. Taking in the titles, he smiled and gestured to the stack. “I see you’re a Stephen King fan,” he remarked. Startled by the abrupt change in conversation, Will nodded slowly.

“Something about the purity of his protagonists facing their darkness is appealing in my line of work,” he replied. “The horrors faced are almost always thwarted.” He lowered his eyes to his lap, his voice barely a whisper when he continued. “I wish I had that kind of track record.”

“I’m sure it’s far better than you believe it to be at the moment,” Hannibal replied. “But we won’t talk about your work for now. Tell me, Will. What other hobbies do you enjoy when you aren’t solving cases for the Bureau?” Will let out a harsh laugh, the sound as brittle as broken glass. He took in a shuddering breath and attempted to regain control over his emotions. It took several painful minutes before he was once again able to speak.

“I don’t really have time outside the FBI anymore,” he said bitterly. “Not since Jack pulled me out of my lectures and back into the field.” Hannibal made another note on his pad before continuing.

“Humor me, then. When you do have time, how do you like to spend it?” Will closed his eyes, running a hand down his stubbled cheek. The doctor stared at the line of his jaw, willing his heart to cease the sudden pounding that began at the sight.

“I fish,” came a quiet reply. “I have a lot of dogs. Strays like me,” he said, a fond smile lifting the corner of his mouth. “They like to be outside, so I take them on long walks and hikes.” He paused for a moment, his eyes fogging slightly as he let himself get lost in his memories. “I make fishing lures too,” he added thoughtfully. “Brightly colored things with feathers and string.” Hannibal smiled, his eyes crinkling warmly. 

“You enjoy working with your hands,” he replied. Will nodded, surprised.

“Ye- yeah. I guess I do.” Hannibal nodded, pleased.

“Tell me about your dogs.” For the first time since Hannibal entered the room, Will’s eyes lit up. The sight crushed the breath from his lungs, tingles of happy anticipation and awareness cascading down his spine at the sight. Hannibal frowned imperceptibly, confused. _To what do I owe these reactions? What is it about him that draws such impulses to the forefront?_ The doctor shut down such uncomfortable thoughts as Will spoke of his pack and how he acquired each member, the circumstances that brought them to his doorstep.

“They’re strays. Like me,” he said, a small smile on his lips. “Nobody wanted them, so I took them in.” Hannibal’s heart contracted gently in his chest.

“It sounds like they need you as much as you need them,” he remarked. “A pack that, without a leader would descend into canine chaos and anarchy.” Will grinned, a bright flash of teeth that was gone before Hannibal could register that it happened.

“Yeah…” he replied thoughtfully. “I guess you’re right.” They sat in a companionable silence for several minutes, both men lost in their own thoughts. After a time, Hannibal stretched, checking the time on his watch. He was surprised to find that more than two hours had passed since leaving the Bureau. _Time flies when you_ _’re getting somewhere, I suppose._

“Thank you for sharing these things with me, Will,” he said, watching as the other man flushed. “I’m afraid this is all the time I have for today, however I’d very much like to continue this conversation. I believe, given your circumstances, it’s best we take it slow.” Picking up his notes, he glanced briefly at the times he wrote down before leaving his office. Looking up, he was startled to find Will staring at him with something akin to sadness, his lower lip pushed slightly forward. Hannibal smiled reassuringly, checking the times on his pad once more.

“I’d like to take a full hour with you, should you amenable to talking with me once again,” he said. “Would that be acceptable?” Will held his gaze for a moment before he slowly nodded.

“Yeah, I think I’d like that,” he replied, running a hand through his curls. Hannibal took in the shine of oil in his hair and made a mental note to ensure he had what he needed to bathe. _I can stop at the front desk on my way out,_ he decided. _Ensure they let him shower. Cleanliness does wonders for the healing process._ It took all of his considerable mental strength to keep the thought of Will in the shower from parading through his mind. _Don_ _’t you dare._

“How does tomorrow at around the same time sound?” he asked, clearing the thought away completely. Will took a deep breath, releasing it slowly.

“That’s fine. It’s not like I have anything better to do.” Hannibal smiled, penciling in the time before sliding his notes back into his briefcase.

“Maybe not yet,” he replied. “But give it time, and this place will be nothing but a small rest stop on the road to a happier life.” Hannibal collected the food containers, sealing the lid before stashing them away. He took a step forward, holding a hand out to the man in the bed. Will eyed it for a moment before taking it, shaking hands briefly. Hannibal tried very hard not to notice the delightful electric tingles that shot up his arm at the contact of their skin. _For Heaven_ _’s sake. Get yourself under control._ Pausing for a moment to consider, he eventually dug a card holder from his pocket, sliding a business card from the back side, one of the few that contained his personal details. Holding it out to Will, he waited until the other man took it reluctantly, glancing at the number penned into the back.

“This number,” he said, indicating the inked in side, “is my personal cell. I would be happy to bring you something to eat for our meeting tomorrow as well. If you have any requests, or even if you just want someone to talk to, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me.” Will glanced up, his eyes rounded with surprise. He seemed to wrestle with a question, weighing it for long moments before letting it escape into the air.

“Why do you want to help me, Doctor Lecter?" he asked. "I'm nobody to you.” The words were small and frightened, as if he expected to be told that it was all a joke, that he was beyond hope. Hannibal watched the fear chase across his face, a low, painful fire burning in his stomach. _Who was it that made you feel as if you aren_ _’t worth helping?_ Hannibal reached out and took one of Will’s trembling hands in his own. The fingers were warm and slightly calloused; Hannibal stroked his own along Will’s palm as he spoke.

“I see something special in you, Will,” he said quietly. “Something beyond your gift that brings you so much pain. You don’t belong here, and I’ll do everything I can do to ensure that you don’t remain past the required amount of time.” Hannibal watched as Will’s face opened in disbelief, fear, and just underneath, the smallest glimpse of hope. _Let_ _’s see what we can grow from that seed._

 _“_ Should you choose,” he continued, his fingers drawing idle patterns into the palm of Will’s hand, “I can have you released into my care. I can help you recover from this, assist you in creating a wonderful beginning from what you wanted to be an end.” He smiled reassuringly, releasing Will’s hand to fall against his lap. “I believe we should take a few more days to ensure you’re comfortable working with me, but I can help you, Will. As long as you let me.” Will drew a breath, his face contracting in sorrow.

“I’m only here because I’m too much of a coward to kill myself,” he whispered, the words lancing through Hannibal’s heart. “I’m not a brave man, Doctor. I could have ended all the sorrow I hold within me, but I made sure someone would find me.” Hannibal watched the pain settle into Will’s features before reaching out to squeeze his shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

“Living takes bravery, Will,” he said gently. “Perhaps you need someone to help you be brave. Maybe it’s not the easy way, but I can promise you that it will be worth it in the end.” The profiler closed his eyes, letting his head fall back to the pillows. Hannibal released his shoulder, standing to collect his briefcase. Setting it on the chair, he donned his overcoat and moved back towards the bed. 

“I will see you tomorrow. The same time. We will talk more then. Think on what I said.” Will nodded, his eyes still closed. Hannibal strode from the room, briefcase in hand, and made his way down to the parking lot, stopping briefly to talk with the same woman at reception who assured him Will’s bathing needs would be seen to.

He sat behind the wheel of his car for several long minutes, a flaming wreck of the man he had been before entering the room above. He drove home in a daze, a tiny part of his heart remaining in the hands of the man now sleeping peacefully for the first time in longer than he could remember. _I doubt very much,_ Hannibal thought as he drove, _that either of us will remain the same man we were before this began. But if I can set him free_ _…so be it._


	3. Best Interests

_Those whose thorns prick the deepest_  
_Guard the tenderest of hearts._

* * *

Hannibal closed his notes for his last patient of the day, replacing the file within the locking cabinet amidst the others he had yet to complete. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose as he let his nerves settle. The man that had just left his office, a fairly competent agent from the narcotics unit with an unfortunate habit of sampling the drugs he often procured during busts, had a tiresome proclivity for talking without knowing when to stop divulging information. The doctor would have to discuss his poor habits with his superior if he continued to hand over information on just how much blow was going up his nose instead of into the evidence lockers on the basement level of the building where it belonged. _Patient confidentiality can only go so far when you_ _’re working for the same team, and your tales grow tedious. Rehabilitation, however, may prove to be the perfect solution to your woes, Agent Ballastrodes._

The drawer containing his files fell shut with a small, resounding click, the folders shifting quietly into place inside the self locking cabinet. Hannibal suppressed a groan, trying very hard not to think about the pile of paperwork he would have to wade through over the weekend. On any normal week, the thought of leaving his notes incomplete would be unheard of, but Hannibal had more important things on which to focus, especially with his lack of sleep the night before. Rest had eluded him until the early morning hours; instead visions of deep blue, pain filled eyes danced behind his eyelids, his thoughts turning to the profiler with a frequency that Hannibal would have found alarming had he taken any time to actually ponder the implications of the direction of his thoughts. Instead, he blocked it out entirely, choosing to focus on the session they had scheduled that very afternoon. His second appointment with Will was now less than an hour away, and he still needed to pack up the food he had prepared for him that morning. Although the other man had not made any requests, or reached out at all for that matter, Hannibal had once again chosen a dish that would serve to comfort as much as it would nourish. _Hospital food is terrible, and he doesn_ _’t need to be any thinner than he already is._

Hannibal stood from the comfort of his seat with a suppressed sigh. Making his way to the kitchenette, he pushed up the sleeves to the deep charcoal sweater he had chosen that morning, turning on his sink to wash his hands. The soft fabric clung to his chest, tapering in with his waist to follow a smooth line to the black slacks encasing his legs, ending in polished dress shoes. The look was perhaps more casual than his usual work attire, but in the light of Will’s distrust in anyone actually attempting to help him, Hannibal wanted to appear more approachable than he usually deemed appropriate. His socks were once again remarkably whimsical for his perceived professionalism, a deep charcoal that matched his sweater, but with a small pattern of frogs dancing across the fabric. The tiniest bit of his own personality could be hidden beneath a veneer of stoicism easily enough, but it brought a smile to his lips when he thought of the material adorning his feet.

Hannibal turned off the tap and donned his apron, moving through the kitchenette as easily as if it were his kitchen at home. He lifted the lid from the pot of stew he had started that morning, giving it a quick stir before lowering the temperature for the final few minutes. Setting aside the lid, he picked up a spoon and sampled the broth, nodding to himself as the rich flavors of beef and spices mingled pleasantly on his tongue. _Perfect. This should serve to help him relax._ He sourced a small glass bowl and filled it with stew, setting it aside to cut two thick slices of homemade sourdough bread to accompany the meal. He buttered both slices generously before depositing them in a second dish. Satisfied with the main portion of the meal, he moved to the far counter top and uncovered the best part of his efforts; a large pan of double dark chocolate brownies, the crust glossy and smooth, and once cut, revealing the decadent insides of his favorite dessert. No matter what he chose to serve the guests of his notorious dinner parties, there was nothing quite like the perfect pan of brownies. He cut into the crust, relishing the scent and satisfying crunch as he sliced off a large section to deposit in a third dish. Gathering them together, he placed all three items in an insulated lunch bag, adding silverware and a linen napkin to the top. As an afterthought, Hannibal filled a thermos with hot water and added several teabags to the lunch bag, selecting both black and green since he was unfamiliar with Will’s preferences. Closing the bag, he set about a quick cleanup before he needed to leave.

Hannibal covered the brownies and stored away the rest of the stew, placing the glass container on the counter top to cool. Reaching for his phone, he unlocked the screen and opened his messages, typing a quick note to Jack to inform him that there was stew that would need to be stored away in the refrigerator within the hour, but to ensure he had a bowl before putting it away. Jack replied with a level of enthusiasm relatively common to his cooking, and Hannibal slid the phone into his pocket, satisfied that the head of his department would feed himself that day. Carrying the bag to his desk, the doctor donned his coat and collected the materials he would need for his visit with the profiler before making his way out of the building to his car. As he drove towards his destination, Hannibal pushed away the nerves dancing away in his stomach, forcing himself to think of convincing Will to agree to treatment, instead of the deep blue of his expressive eyes.

***

“Doctor Lecter! Fancy meeting you here again!” The woman behind the desk was the same one that had greeted him the day before. Eyes sparkling, she grinned at him from her perch, her hair escaping its bun to trail down her brightly rouged cheeks.

“Hello Darlene,” he replied, a small smile on his lips. Darlene’s smile turned into a wide grin, the lipstick that stained her teeth a bright coral today. The doctor hid his amusement, shifting the bundle beneath his arm. “Doing well today? She nodded enthusiastically.

“Right as rain. What brings you by? Your pet profiler expecting you?” Hannibal’s stomach tightened at the phrasing, but he nodded just the same. 

“I am here to visit Mr. Graham again if he’s available. May I go up?” Darlene nodded, waiving her hand towards the elevator, bracelet and watch jangling musically on her wrist.

“Course you can. Doctor Chilton has already made his rounds, so I’m sure he’d be happy to see a friendlier face. You remember the room number?” Hannibal nodded.

“Room 416. Psychiatric ward.” The woman’s grin grew.

“You got it, handsome. Head on up. I’m sure he could use company as attractive as you.” Hannibal flushed but smiled, moving past the desk towards the elevators. 

“Thank you for your help,” he murmured. “Have a wonderful rest of your afternoon.” Hannibal reached the elevator and pressed the up button, stepping in to join a couple that looked visibly shaken, huddled near the rear of the elevator. They didn’t look his direction at all during the ascent, exiting on the third floor without making a sound, their movements of resignation indicative of a terminal diagnosis. _Unfortunate. And so young._ Hannibal waited patiently for the doors to slide closed, leaning into the railing as the elevator began to move once again. With a quiet ping, he was admitted to the fourth floor. The space to which he exited was eerily quiet for a hospital, especially considering he was in the psychiatric evaluation ward, but Hannibal brushed aside his trepidation and made his way to Will’s room without a backward glance. 

The door to Will’s room was open, but he knocked lightly, waiting for a reply before crossing the threshold. The man in the bed looked no worse for wear, but the dark smudges that had taken up residence beneath his eyes were still quite prominent. Hannibal noted with mild distress that he still hadn’t managed a shower, but decided to leave it for the time being. _Another conversational point. Perhaps he avoids it for reasons unknown._

Will smiled wanly, a bare lift of lips that didn’t reach his eyes. He pressed a button to the side of his bed, tilting the back enough to sit fully up. Hannibal noted the tremor in his hand, filing it within the space within his mind that Will had already begun to occupy. _We will need to discuss it, but not just yet. Pleasantries first._

“Hello, Will,” he said, his voice pitched low and soothing- a professional trick he’d picked up since working with the Bureau. _See how easy I am to talk with? Open up to me, just a little._ “How are you feeling today?” The man in the bed adjusted his position with a grimace, clearing his throat before he attempted an answer.

“Hi Doctor Lecter. Forgive me for my current state, I actually didn’t expect you to return.” Hannibal set his things down on the table he’d used the night before, using the time to carefully school his face to ensure none of the surprise he felt showed. _Distrust. So much pain behind the wonderful blue of your eyes, but the level of distrust is alarming._

“And why wouldn’t I return?” he asked, opening the insulated bag that contained the food he had brought. No response came. He turned to face the profiler curiosity burning away much of his patience. Will was looking at his hands, his discomfort etched plainly into his features.

“What reason do you have to do so?” he finally replied, his voice soft and fragile as glass. “You don’t know me, Doctor. You don’t owe me a thing.” Hannibal stared a moment in surprise before moving across the room, abandoning his efforts to keep his hands busy. He took a seat in the chair next to Will’s bed and reached instinctively for his hand, cradling it within the heat of his own. He waited, holding the profiler’s hand until Will looked up from the bed to meet his eyes. Whatever he saw there seemed to ease some of the tension he was holding, as he sagged back against the pillows. Hannibal watched him settle, his heart straining just a little. _Who was it that made you feel like this?_

“I told you yesterday that I want to help you,” Hannibal murmured, holding Will’s pain filled eyes gently within his own gaze. _Keep looking at me. You_ _’re safe with me._ “I do not make that commitment without the knowledge that we have a long road ahead of us. But,” he continued, stroking his fingers along the top of Will’s hand, “it doesn’t mean the effort I put forth will not be worth it. May I speak plainly?” Will nodded, unable or unwilling to look away. His eyes still held distrust, but he was listening, hardly daring to breathe. _Hope is a thing with feathers, and he must feel like Icarus. Too close to the sun_. Hannibal took a breath, holding the air in his lungs before releasing it slowly. When he spoke, his words came out steadier than he suddenly felt.

“When Jack came to me and asked for my assistance, I expected some level of resistance on your part. While that is a direction we can travel, we would both be better served by building a foundation of honesty. Do you agree?” Will stared at him for a long time before nodding slowly, his eyes tired and haunted. 

“So you have an obligation to Jack to help me get better,” Will said, his voice flat. Hannibal raised an eyebrow, watching Will’s face as it filled with defiance. “Its your professional duty to see to it that the unstable profiler of the FBI can perform his function, keep his head down and do his job.” Hannibal suppressed a sigh. _Of course. You believe yourself a hindrance, a tool for Jack to use and discard when he is finished._

“No.” Will’s eyes widened. Hannibal waited.

“What do you mean ‘no’?” Will spat. “This is your job. You’re going to put me back together, a Frankensteined Humpty Dumpty so I can go back to work. I hate to tell you Doctor Lecter, but the pieces won’t fit back together very well.” He pulled his hand from Hannibal’s grasp, rubbing his skin as if he had been burned. Hannibal shook his head.

“Incorrect.” Will’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. They sat, staring at one another for long minutes before Will broke the silence, his voice breaking as he tried to speak.

“That’s how this works. That’s how it always works. My mind breaks a little and Jack sends some well meaning shrink to fix me well enough to continue my career as a profiler, but I’m still broken inside. Instead of Jack letting me live out my existence in a classroom, he waits until I’m no longer making him worry. Then, he brings me pictures or stories, and I’m roped right back into the fray, my heart so overburdened with guilt that I will continue until it kills me. He sends me to someone who says they’re going to help, and they can’t. They don’t understand me, just as you won’t understand. You’ll say the words and let me talk, but you can’t help me.” His chest heaved, the dam of emotions now broken open, his anger and fear pouring forth in a hot wave of turmoil.

“You know what, Doctor Lecter? You know why I’m here? Why I’m really in this bed, another failure beneath my belt? I’m a coward. I’ve seen dozens, maybe hundreds of people after they’ve died. And their deaths… they make me die a little inside, too. It hurts to stand there, staring down at eyes that have been closed for ever, studying the corpses before me, knowing in my heart of hearts that I want to join them. I don’t want to see who killed them. I don’t want to help. I want to be them, in the stillness and silence that accompanies the dead.” Tears formed in the profiler’s eyes, thick and hot, trapping his voice in his throat. He tried to continue, wanted to say more, get it all out, but his words were trapped beneath the weight of his pain. Tears began to pour down his cheeks, and once they started, he was at a loss to stop them. Panic rose in his chest as he wiped at his face and tried to control the sob that threatened to spill from his throat. _No- no I can_ _’t- he won’t-_

Hannibal rose from the chair. Will closed his eyes, knowing what was about to happen. It was too much too soon- the doctor would pronounce him too broken to fix. He’d pack up his things and make his way from the room, tell Jack he needed to find someone else, anybody else. He would be gone, just as all the others before him. _I can_ _’t blame him. I’d leave too if I could._

To his surprise, Hannibal took a seat on the bed and reached for him. Will struggled for a moment, his body going rigid as he was tugged forward. Eventually he relented, succumbing to the gentle pull of the other man’s hands. Hannibal folded him into his arms in a loose embrace made awkward by the distance between them. Will bent forward as much as possible, pressing himself into the waiting arms, fighting the need to cling to him. Hannibal moved closer, sliding as far onto the bed as their positions would permit, pulling Will along with him. When the profiler’s head rested against his shoulder, Hannibal began to rub his back, slow, soothing circles, the warmth of his hands radiating through the thin gown that covered Will’s skin. Will shivered, the sob he had been trying to hold in bursting forth in a shot of sound, reverberating off the walls in a cacophony of turmoil. The sound rose, filling the space with his despair. _Heavy. It_ _’s all just so heavy._

For the first time in longer than he could remember, Will cried, his entire body wracked with the force of his sobs. Hannibal held him as he clung desperately to the doctor’s sweater, tears soaking through the material in hot patches. Will tried to pull back, to keep from ruining the shirt, but Hannibal held him tighter, whispering soothingly in words too low for Will to discern. He poured the years of loneliness and helplessness into his tears, letting them wash him clean, held within the embrace of the only person who had ever offered him a safe haven to let it all go. _God, god, god I can_ _’t- too much-_

It took almost a half hour for any semblance of calm to return. Will cried until he had no tears left, tracts left on his skin as he purged his soul of the aches he’d been holding onto for as long as he could remember. He quieted, resting his head against Hannibal’s collarbone, his breath coming in short, harsh gasps. They sat in silence for another ten minutes before Hannibal released him. Embarrassment took over his relief and Will leaned back into the pillows, his eyes falling closed as he worked to regain his composure. He felt the bed shift as Hannibal stood, his heart squeezing tightly against the cracks of vulnerability he had just displayed. _Knew it. I knew he_ _’d leave as soon as-_

The clink of a bowl caught his attention. Will opened his eyes to find Hannibal setting out the food he had brought with him, removing the lid from thick slices of bread and what smelled like homemade beef stew. A linen napkin and spoon made an appearance, placed carefully within his reach. When he was finished, Hannibal took a seat and gestured to the food.

“Please. Eat something. It will help.” Throat still thick with emotion, Will picked up the spoon and took a bite, a low sound of appreciation escaping his throat before he could close it off. Hannibal smiled softly and watched him eat every bite, his eyes gentle and understanding. Will ate quickly, famished. When he had finished, Hannibal took away the bowls, placing them in his bag. He removed the brownie and a fork and set them in front of the profiler, removing the lid before he could protest. Will took in the dessert sitting in the dish, the heavenly scent wafting up through his senses in a wash of sugary comfort. He looked back at Hannibal who smiled and nudged the dish forward.

“Double dark chocolate. Homemade. I made them this morning in between patients.” Will picked up the fork and speared a bite, letting the rich chocolate fill his senses. Hannibal looked delighted at his obvious enjoyment. Will swallowed a bite and cleared his throat, wanting to speak but unsure of what to say.

“You baked these today? Do you see patients at home?” Hannibal laughed and shook his head. The wonderful sound of his laughter was richer than the chocolate and Will swallowed hard, overwhelmed. _Christ you sound good when you laugh._

“I know we are not very well acquainted at the Bureau, but I actually have a fully functioning kitchen in my office,” Hannibal replied, his eyes sparkling with delight at the incredulous look on Will’s face. The profiler took another bite of chocolate, letting it melt on his tongue.

“You have a kitchen in your office,” he repeated. Hannibal nodded.

“The entire back row of our floor is a dedicated space for my practice,” he said. “I have many amenities that would not usually be afforded to someone within the mental health services industry, but such things have proven helpful when treating agents that experience the level of trauma your coworkers do on a regular basis. I have installed an isolation room on one side, and a kitchen on the opposite wall. The normal accoutrements of a psychiatrist can be found throughout most of the room, but I find that being able to provide a silent space to decompress and food during sessions helps others open up and discuss those things they otherwise would not. While unconventional, my methods have proven to be quite effective, much to the Bureau’s frustration.” Will took another bite, his brows drawing together in confusion.

“Why to their frustration?” he finally asked. Hannibal grinned and crossed his leg over his knee. Will took notice of the frogs on his socks and had to suppress the wild laughter that suddenly wanted to burst forth. _Jesus, what the hell else is going to happen today?_

“Since I am able to successfully treat my patients and keep the Bureau the well oiled machine that it is under my care, they have to acquiesce to my requests far more often than they’d like.” Will nodded, suddenly understanding.

“That’s how you got the kitchen.”

“Yes. And the panic room. And next year, the bottom floor will have a pool installed.” Will whistled, a low, bright sound.

“How’d you manage that?” he asked, fascinated. Hannibal’s eyes sparkled with ill concealed amusement. Reaching into his bag, he procured the thermos and two small mugs, and set about making them tea.

“I provided our fine leadership with the materials necessary to prove my case, as well as an impeccable track record of successful rehabilitation cases,” Hannibal replied. “Retaining my services now that I’m being sought after by other locations is their paramount priority. I continue my practices, and in return, I get a pool. Black or green?” Will laughed, his eyes going wide in surprise. Despite his emotional outburst, or perhaps because of it, he felt good. Better than he felt he had a right to.

“Black, please. So you’re saying that they’d never be able to find another psychiatrist that would cook for his patients,” Will concluded. “Which means the expensive office would have to be redone.” Hannibal nodded smugly, opening the teabags and adding them to their mugs before passing one over. Will watched the water in his own change color.

“Indeed. It’s more cost effective to bend to my whims than it is to attempt to replace me.” They stared into their cups for a moment, the atmosphere feeling suddenly charged, as if his room had been transfigured into a desert landscape before a storm. _But the storm has passed already, thanks to Doctor Lecter._ He removed his teabag and tossed it in the wastebasket near the bed, feeling suddenly shy. Hannibal took the moment to place the lid on the container that held his dessert and return it to the bag, returning to remove his own teabag. He took an experimental sip and sighed, wrapping his hands around the mug. The sight brought a sudden tightness to Will’s chest, a wave of soft emotion passing through him in a wash of warmth.

“Thank you,” Will said suddenly, startling them both. “I know this can’t be easy for you, having someone you just met break down in tears, then laughing hysterically.” Hannibal smiled reassuringly and returned to his seat.

“Actually, it’s quite a healthy display of emotions,” he replied. “I’d be far more worried if you clung to your sorrow than the sudden shift to mild histrionics. The swing after such an emotional release is natural. You have nothing for which to be sorry.” Will swallowed, his throat clicking dryly. Hannibal nudged his teacup towards him with a smile. Will took a sip, letting the liquid soothe his throat before he tried again.

“I’m a mess, Doctor Lecter. You don’t deserve to have to try and put me back together.” Hannibal sighed and leaned back into his seat, peering up into Will’s worried eyes. _For every step forward, we must take a half step back._

“Trust me when I say that if I thought you were untreatable, I would not be here,” he murmured. “However, with some good conversations, I have no doubt that you can become stronger than even you believe yourself capable." Reaching forward, he patted Will’s hand reassuringly. “You deserve a full life, Will. A life that loves you as much as you love it. You don’t exist to give yourself completely to your work, and you are in need of protective barriers to keep your mind from the worst of it.” He squeezed Will’s trembling fingers, letting them tangle briefly with his own.

“I can help you develop those safeguards if you let me,” he continued. “Bread crumbs to follow that will prevent you from getting lost when you traverse a mind that isn’t your own. Perception can be a double edged sword, but I can help you keep from cutting yourself.” Will trembled, overwhelmed.

“Why am I worth it, though?” he asked, desperate. “Why are you willing to help me?” Hannibal stared at him for a long moment, his eyes unreadable.

“Because being human is not a crime,” he finally responded. “Being weak from time to time is part of the human experience. You have kept yourself together for so long that you’ve forgotten what it is to let go and still be okay. It’s not just my job, Will. It’s because I believe in who you could be, if you give yourself the chance to heal. You just have to work with me. Help me help you.” Will nodded slowly.

“So, you’ll keep coming back?” he asked hopefully. Hannibal nodded. Will felt something fragile inside his heart, an emotional muscle he hadn’t been aware of until that precise moment, relax for the first time in longer than he dared remember. That tight piece of him loosened and fell away, leaving him feeling suddenly empty and light as a feather. _Maybe... maybe this is what it feels like to have hope._

“I will continue to have these conversations with you while you are here, and when you are discharged, they shall move to the comfort my office,” he replied. “You can sit at the counter while I cook for you, relax on the couch in your own clothing and unburden yourself to me. I will take care of you, as long as you let me.” Will nodded again, relief flooding his system. _He will be there. Helping me when I get lost._

“Okay. I’ll try.” Hannibal smiled, his eyes crinkling in happiness. For the first time, Will took in the deep red and gold color, a shade he had never seen before in a pair of eyes. For some reason, the color made his heart squeeze tightly in his chest. _Stunning. Unique, like he is._

Hannibal glanced at his watch and sighed. Several hours had passed since he arrived, and his stomach had begun tightening in hunger. While working to provide food for his patient, he had neglected his own needs and if he didn’t eat soon, he’d be paying dearly for his decisions. Will watched him, his eyes a little sad as he realized what was about to happen. 

“I’m afraid I must depart,” Hannibal said, although he knew that Will was aware of what was about to happen. “I’m loathe to admit I did not eat today, and I’ll soon become very cranky if I don’t fill my own stomach.” Will winced, looking contrite.

“Shit, and here I am, wolfing down food in front of you.” Hannibal shook his head.

“No. Do not feel guilty for eating as you did. It’s important to nourish your body as well as your soul. Plus, I would have been highly displeased if you didn’t finish, since I took the time to prepare it for you.” Will smiled a little at that, relief plain in his features.

“Maybe next time…” he said, his words trailing off as heat burned in his cheeks. He swallowed and looked up at Hannibal, his eyes fiercely determined. “Next time, bring enough for yourself, too. That way, you don’t get hangry.” Hannibal laughed and, much to Will’s relief, nodded.

“Hangry. Yes, that’s one way to describe it. And I shall. We can dine together, then talk about your departure from this place. How does that sound?” Will nodded.

“Yeah- that sounds great. Um-” he swallowed again. “When will you be back?” Hannibal pulled out his phone and checked his schedule.

“Tomorrow, right around the same time,” he said, marking off his calendar. “I will also bring you something more comfortable to wear, and some amenities for you to shower.” Will flushed, embarrassment burning across the back of his neck.

“Oh you don’t have to-” Hannibal raised a hand, cutting off his protestations.

“No, I do not, but I wish you to be comfortable. Think of it as payment for your homework tonight. Do you still have the business card I gave you?” Will nodded and retrieved it from the side table next to his bed. 

“Perfect. Please reach out to me and let me know what you’d like for dinner tomorrow. I will stop on my way to work and pick up what I need in order to prepare it. I will bring enough for us to share. Agreed?” Will nodded.

“Can-” he stopped himself, closing his eyes. Hannibal waited, his gaze patient. “Can you bring me anther brownie?” Laughing, Hannibal nodded.

“Of course. I will bring you two, especially since you asked. Is there anything else you’d like to have here that you don’t?” Will shook his head.

“Not that I can think of.”

“If you think of anything, please do not hesitate to reach out to me. And Will?”

“Hmm?” Hannibal reached for his shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly.

“You are welcome to message me at any time. It is not hour or subject restricted. Okay?” Will nodded, his eyes rounded in amazement.

“Good. I am going to let you get some sleep then. Please let me know what you’d like to eat, and I’ll ensure it’s prepared.”

“Okay. Goodnight Doctor Lecter.” Hannibal smiled and collected his things.

“Please call me Hannibal, Will. No need for such formalities between us.” Will smiled gently and inclined his head tiredly.

“Hannibal.” The sound of his given name on the profiler’s lips was enough to make the doctor want to purr. _That_ _’s it. God in heaven, that’s it._

“Much better. I shall see you tomorrow.” 

“Okay. Drive safe.” Hannibal closed the door and made his way to his car, his mind carefully blank as he drove home. His phone chimed quietly in his pocket, but he left it where it was, unwilling to risk his concentration when he already felt so fragmented. Another tiny piece of his soul seemed to have disengaged from him, left within the hospital to attach itself to Will. The feeling left him unbalanced and a little weary. _That could also be your lack of sustenance speaking. Go home and eat, and stop thinking about this._

Once home, Hannibal removed his shoes and padded into the kitchen to make himself dinner. He opened the refrigerator and peered around, finally removing the liver he had prepared two days before. Setting it on a plate, he added some bitter greens and dressing before pouring himself a small glass of deep burgundy wine, watching as it filled his glass as though it were blood. He took a seat at the counter and began to eat, finally consenting to fish his phone from his pocket.

The message waiting for him cut his breath.

[07:48PM] **Hi Hannibal** **… it’s Will Graham. I’m not sure what I want yet, but I’ll think about it. I just wanted to say thank you. For not giving up on me.**

Hannibal didn’t reply reply just yet; instead he continued his meal and thought over their interactions and Will’s moments of vulnerability so openly displayed under the right conditions. When he’d finished eating, he placed his plate and glass in the sink and turned out the light, suddenly overtaken with exhaustion, the contented, bone deep tired he felt when he had accomplished something beyond his wildest imaginings. Making his way through the darkened house, he entered his bedroom and changed, tossing the tear stained sweater on the bed beside him. Turning off the lights, he slid between the cool sheets, relishing in the sudden plunge into darkness. _The better to hide from my own emotional turmoil._

With a contented sigh, he reached for his phone and began to tap out a reply.


	4. Necessary Measures

_Though sympathy alone can’t alter facts,_  
_It can help to make them more bearable._  
_-Bram Stoker_

* * *

[07:18AM] **Good morning, Hannibal. I hope I** **’m not waking you. Thanks again for the conversation last night. The texts… they seem to make it easier to talk about some of the more difficult aspects of my current situation.**

[07:22AM] **Also, I** **’ve decided what I want to eat, if you’re still amenable to bringing me something.**

[07:24AM] _Good morning, Will. It_ _’s a pleasant surprise to wake to your texts. I trust you slept better after our discussion?_

[07:28AM] _May I inquire as to what you decided for your meal for the day? I will need to stop for ingredients on my way in._

[07:30AM] **I** **… slept better than I have in a long time. Are you sure it’s not too much trouble to put in requests? It isn’t as if I can complain about your choices. The food you make is exceptional.**

[07:35AM] _Ask, Will. I assure you, it_ _’s no trouble at all. If I must admit it, I am happy that you’re feeling well enough to make the decision._

[07:37AM] **In that case** **… stir fry sounds really good. Chicken for the protein. And white sticky rice.**

[07:42AM] _With the way you were fretting, I thought your request would be far more complex. I would be happy to bring you stir fry._

[07:43AM] **And brownies?**

[07:48AM] _And brownies._

***

Hannibal walked the now familiar path to Will’s room, his arms full of the provisions he’d purchased earlier in the day. The door to the profiler’s room stood open, inviting him to stride in without knocking. Will looked up from the bed, his eyes widening at the sight of the packages clutched precariously to Hannibal’s chest.

“Jesus, Doctor Lecter. Do you need a hand?” Hannibal moved to the table, allowing the heaviest of the bags to fall to the ground with a thud before placing the other items more carefully upon the tabletop. When his arms were emptied, he turned back to Will, gently assessing the profiler’s state. Will seemed tired, but looked to be in good spirits, if somewhat unkempt. Hannibal sighed inwardly, wondering again why the staff had yet to see fit to find him the provisions for showering. _No matter. He will be able to do so while I am here._

“It seems I managed,” he replied, stretching his fingers, releasing the tension from them. “If only barely.” He made his way towards the bed, collapsing into the chair he had occupied on his previous visits. Will leaned back against the pillows, eyeing the table with unrestrained curiosity. 

“Dare I ask what you hauled all the way up here?” the profiler asked, his eyes moving from package to package. Hannibal only smiled. Will let his gaze drift to the other man. He took a moment to fully appreciate Hannibal’s appearance, his heart beating hard in his chest. The sweater the doctor had chosen for the day was a deep coal black; it looked thick and as comfortable as the night sky would be if it could be woven into fabric. His slacks were slim cut and charcoal, hugging his body the way only bespoke pieces could, ending in shoes polished to a mirrored black. He looked far more formidable than Will had ever seen him. _As if he_ _’s had to play some kind of power game today._ He glanced down as Hannibal crossed his ankle over his knee and had to immediately smother a smile; the socks the other man wore shattered the illusion of the stoic psychiatrist the rest of his clothing attempted to convey. Although black in color, the pattern appeared to be tiny penguins in red bow ties, all holding different poses. He glanced away, trying to school his features back under control. 

“You’ll find out in good time,” Hannibal replied, unaware of the shine in the other man’s eyes. Instead, he let his gaze trail along Will’s body; his hair was still a mess of curls, now beginning to clump with oil. His skin looked sallow and dry, eyes a little tired. Mentally filing away each detail, his heart contracted just a little. _Nobody in this place wishes you to be seen to. If you are to recover as you should, you need a place to rest and recover while under supervision, a place that will ensure you have the proper provisions to keep yourself clean, safe, and comfortable._ He relaxed his features, allowing himself to fall back into the role he’d so carefully cultivated for difficult situations.

“First, may I ask how today has been for you since we spoke this morning?” he asked gently. Will glanced away towards the windows on the far side of the room.

“Today’s been fine,” he lied. Hannibal knew it to be just that, but didn’t mention it. “Chilton has been in at least four times- I kind of lost count after that-?”

“Frederick Chilton?” Hannibal cut in, his voice coming out harsher than he intended. He watched Will carefully, but the profiler kept his eyes averted. “Has he stated the purpose for his visits?” Will nodded, his eyes on a pigeon that had landed outside on the sill.

“Yeah, he is testing some new assessment techniques,” he replied tiredly. “Trying to keep me longer than the 72 hour hold, but has been given no evidence that I’m in any kind of danger. Heard him speaking with the nurse outside the door about changing some of my medication-” Hannibal snorted, running a hand unconsciously through his hair. _Of course he_ _’d seek to tamper with your wellbeing in such a pedestrian fashion. He does not wish to let you go when he’s so close to getting what he wants._

“Has Chilton been made aware that you are being treated by me?” the doctor inquired, watching Will’s face as he spoke. Will flinched back, but shook his head slowly. 

“No,” he muttered, lowering his eyes to where his hands lay in his lap. “No, I try not to speak when he’s in the room. He constantly tries to confuse me, make me say things I don’t necessarily mean, if that makes sense. Provokes me into things I’d never tell him.” Hannibal nodded, satisfied. A sudden grin broke over his face, a feral parting of lips that appeared more predatory than the result of mirth.

“Excellent,” he murmured darkly. “Then I shall make it perfectly clear that there will be no hearing or extended stay. Tomorrow marks the end of his 72 hour window and from there, you will be released fully into my care.” Hannibal waited before continuing, watching as Will kept his eyes on the bird without really seeing it.

“That is, of course, if you are comfortable with that arrangement,” he added. Will finally turned his head to glance into the doctor’s face, his eyes wide and frightened.

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea if I leave the supervision of the hospital,” he admitted, twisting the blanket around his waist. “I don’t think it’s safe for me to be on my own. I know-” he swallowed, the dry click of his throat loud in the quiet hush of the room. Hannibal poured him a glass of water, handing it to him before settling back in his chair, his face impassive, bloodstained eyes gentle and understanding even as his heart sank into his stomach. _So this is what Frederick has been up to. Talk to me. Tell me what distresses you so._

"You know… what?” he urged. Will stared at the cup in his hands, a flush creeping up his neck.

“I know I seem okay… you know. When you’re here. I’ve been pretending to be okay for months now, and I’m… well, I’m not. I’m not well.” The words felt monumental; a boulder’s worth of weight dropped from Will’s shoulders. He ran a hand through his curls, grimacing when his palm came back shiny with oil. Without a word, Hannibal took the cup and handed him a small washcloth for him to wipe his hands clean. Will took the cloth, his face crimson with embarrassment. 

“I just want to feel good again,” he whispered, clutching the cloth in his hands, twisting and wringing it around and around. “Everything inside hurts all the time, like part of me is being carved away each time I talk about it, something dark and sharp and ugly. Something malignant. But then, when I talk, it seems to grow smaller… distant. But then- then… I wake up and it’s grown back. Like a tumor, but on my emotions.” Hannibal let him settle, allowed his anger at the man claiming to help the profiler to cool for a moment while collected his thoughts. 

“You understand that it is normal to feel the way you do, don’t you?” he asked quietly. Will looked over, his entire body rigid, distrust etched plainly in his features. Hannibal leaned forward and took one of the hands clutching the washcloth, cradling it in his own. His thumb stroked along the skin of his palm, tracing idle patterns along Will’s skin. The profiler stilled beneath his touch, focused on the single point of contact. Waiting.

“Do you know,” Hannibal continued, his thumb tracing along the thin skin of Will’s inner wrist, “what every human being needs to be, before they can be happy?” Will watched the progress of the other man’s fingers for a moment before shaking his head.

“No,” he whispered, trembling. Hannibal’s heart contracted at the quiet desperation, the need to understand. _You need it, more than anyone I_ _’ve ever met._

“We need to be safe,” Hannibal murmured, lacing their fingers together. He squeezed gently, letting Will cling to his hand, fulfilling his desperate need for contact. “Safety doesn’t come from a place that monitors your every move, Will. It can help… for a time. But eventually, you will need to venture out of this place, into the world beyond.” The profiler sighed, pulling his hand back into his lap.

“I know that,” he mumbled. “I just don’t know if I’m ready to face the great beyond, and be by myself while I do it. I just feel…small. Lost.” Hannibal nodded and stood, making his way to the table.

“I understand more than you may think,” he replied gently. “But we do not need to dwell on it.” Gesturing to the pile of packages on the table, he smiled. “For now, let’s concentrate on smaller comforts.” Searching through the stack, he selected a number of bags and brought them over, placing them on the other man’s lap. He took a seat and gestured for Will to open them. With a look of confusion, Will obliged, his eyes widening as he removed a selection of t shirts and comfortable lounging pants, several pairs of socks and boxer briefs, and a long, grey robe.

“What-” he breathed, overwhelmed. Hannibal smiled.

“I thought you might be getting tired of your current hospital attire, so I purchased a selection of other things you might enjoy instead,” he explained. “I did have to guess on the sizing, but I believe you’ll find I’ve got a fairly keen eye for such things.” Will nodded, his face flushed as he ran his fingers over the boxer briefs and socks. _He picked out underwear. Comfortable things, but still aesthetically pleasing. As if- as if it matters._

Hannibal handed him another bag. Upon opening it, Will found high end shampoo and conditioner, as well as body wash, an electric razor, a toothbrush and a comb. Looking up, he found the psychiatrist watching him, his eyes protective and soft. _How can he look at me like that? Knowing what_ _’s going on inside me. Why does he look at me as if I’m okay?_ Some part of him, a piece long shattered but still hurting, eased at the look in Hannibal’s eyes. Healed, just a little.

“I thought we’d start this afternoon’s session with a long, hot shower,” Hannibal murmured. "I will wait for you just outside the door, in case you need anything. Cleaning your body and changing into something more resembling actual clothing will help ease some of your remaining discomfort.” He stood once more and held his hands out to Will. “Once you’ve had a chance to relax under the water, we will eat and talk a little longer. Does that sound acceptable?” Will piled all of his new things to one side and nodded, pulling the covers back. He took Hannibal’s hands and stood, his legs trembling with effort after several days of disuse. Together they moved across the room to the bathroom, where Hannibal leaned the profiler up against the sink to turn on the taps. After a moment, the room began to fill with billows of steam.

“Do you need assistance in removing the hospital gown you’re wearing?” Hannibal asked, watching Will’s face in the mirror as it fogged. The other man shook his head.

“N-no… I think I’m okay,” he replied. “Can you-” but Hannibal was already striding across the room to where Will’s things had been left during their journey.

“Do you have a preference in clothing, or shall I bring the entire selection?” the doctor asked. 

“Um-” Hannibal simply pawed through the items on the bed, holding up several articles of clothing for Will’s appraisal. Will pointed tiredly to a dark blue pair of lounging pants and a white t shirt. Hannibal selected a pair of underwear and socks, adding them to the pile in his arms. Finally, he picked up the dressing gown and moved back across the room, placing the clothing on the counter before handing Will the bag containing everything he would need for his shower.

“Thanks, Doctor Lecter,” Will mumbled, glancing longingly at where the water cascaded against cold tiles. Hannibal nodded and moved back.

“You’re most welcome, Will. Take all the time you need. I will be out here if you need me.” He closed the door except for a crack, a sliver to allow him to hear the other man if he needed him. He paused a moment outside the room, listening as Will shed the clothing he’d been wearing since he had been admitted. The material hit the floor with a soft flump, and Hannibal could hear the rustling of the bag he’d brought as Will collected his shampoo and body wash. A few seconds later, the curtain drew back with a click, and Will stepped under the spray with a sigh. Hannibal nodded to himself and moved away towards the bed so he could move the rest of Will’s clothing off of his space. 

Once the clothing was securely placed within the drawers near Will’s bed, Hannibal folded back the covers, his blood turning to ice in his veins as he inspected the sheets. They were obviously sweat stained, as if Will had been sleeping restlessly for many days without the customary change. Lowering his head, the doctor took a breath, holding the stale scent within his lungs for a long moment before exhaling. Fury coursed through him, hot and prickling along his skin. He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he willed himself back under control. _Anger will not help. Frustration will do nothing. Action is the best remedy._ He glanced towards the door of the bathroom, but all seemed well within. Without a word to its occupant, Hannibal strode into the hall in search of a nurse.

***

Will let the water run over his body, dipping his head beneath the stream to dampen his hair before opening the first bottle Hannibal had brought. The scent that wafted out smelled better than anything he’d ever purchased himself; clean wood and mint drifted through his senses, calming him as he worked the liquid into a pile of bubbles. It took two handfuls for his hair to lather; the buildup of oil so thick, it didn’t want to break. The third wash finally came back with thick white foam; he scrubbed at his scalp idly before tilting his head into the deluge, watching the suds circle the drain before disappearing. 

It was almost impossible to keep from thinking of the man in the other room. The selection of bathing products he had chosen was oddly comforting, as were the clothes he had obviously taken the time to choose himself. Will let his mind wander as he dispensed conditioner into his hands, inhaling the same woodsy scent as the shampoo he’d already used. After cleaning his body, he turned up the temperature of the water and took a seat on the bench at the far end of the hospital shower. He closed his eyes and inhaled the steam that rose from the heat, letting it wash him clean, just as the soap had. While he sat, he thought.

Hannibal presented an enigma. One he was unsure he’d be able to solve. Meticulously clean and well spoken, he was the epitome of professionalism and at the height of his career, obviously able and willing to take him under his care. Yet even through all of the wonderful aspects to the doctor, Will still sensed an undercurrent beneath his projected calm, a part of himself that he kept so well hidden, Will wasn’t even sure ifHannibal knew it was there. He could feel it beneath the man’s skin like a second heartbeat, darkly pulsing just out of sight. The glint in his eyes as they spoke. His obvious disdain for Doctor Chilton. The feral grin that sometimes graced his mouth when he thought Will wasn’t looking. Thinking about the culmination of all of those aspects made him shiver, but it wasn’t with cold, or worry. Will wasn’t certain why, but the darkness within Hannibal made him feel… _safe. He makes me feel protected._ The thought startled him. The more it solidified in his mind, the more real it became.

Everything about the other man comforted him. He just wasn’t sure if comfort was what he should feel.

With a sigh, Will turned off the water and reached for a towel, drying himself thoroughly before reaching for the clothing Hannibal had provided. Unsurprisingly, everything fit him as if it were made for him. _As if he did more than guess._

***

The door to the bathroom opened just as Hannibal finished with the bed. The soiled linens had already been collected by a tearful woman who informed him shakily that she had been instructed to keep away from Will’s room. When Hannibal had demanded to know why, her lip quivered and she had leaned close, as if afraid of being overheard.

“The doctor says the man inside is dangerous,” she insisted. “I am not to disturb him while he is here, and there is no time when he is in his sessions to change them.” Hannibal thanked her for her honesty and took the stack of fresh sheets from her with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

Will was still in the shower when he returned. Quickly stripping the sheets from the bed, he handed them over to the shaking nurse and slipped the new ones on, meticulously tightening the corners as he went. As a final touch, he removed the large weighted blanket from it’s packaging and placed it over the top of the bed and folded back the sheets so Will would have nothing to question. When the door opened, he whirled around guiltily, unsure why he suddenly felt as if he’d been caught doing something wrong. _You don_ _’t want to make him uncomfortable, since you know of his night terrors. That is all._

The man that stood in the doorway stopped his heart.

Dressed in something that looked more akin to what he’d wear if he was relaxing at home, Will transformed from a patient into a man, tired and a little unshaven, but delectably comfortable and decadently relaxed. His hair was still damp, falling in a wild cascade of curls around his face. The scent of the products Hannibal had chosen wafted in his direction; not only had he showered, but Will had also taken the time to brush his teeth and apply deodorant. The robe he’d purchased did wonderful things for Will’s complexion, bringing out the rosiness of his cheeks and the bright blue of his eyes, the creaminess of his skin. 

Hannibal couldn’t look away.

Will gave him a soft smile and padded into the room, depositing the hospital gown in the corner. Hannibal tried to open his mouth to speak, attempted to clear his throat. Anything. The sight of Will as he should have been, healthy and relaxed, was enough to stun him into silence. The scent of the products got stronger as he approached, clinging to the doctor’s psyche, imprinting the memory within the room he had begun to unconsciously create from his memories of their time together. _What I wouldn_ _’t give to see you in a different setting altogether. Somewhere where I could ensure you were getting the treatment you need. A place for you to be… this. Just this, without a care._

An idea began to form from his train of thought, a delicate string of decisions that had yet to take full form. He mulled it over for a moment, then pushed it aside with a smile. _Perhaps. A subject to broach at any rate._

“You appear to be feeling much better,” he murmured. “Have a seat and I will bring you dinner.” Will slid beneath the covers, pausing momentarily at the added weight. Hannibal was busy removing lids from their dishes and didn’t notice the reaction.

“Weighted blanket?” came the quiet inquiry from behind him. The doctor smiled to himself and turned, tray in hand. 

“Yes,” he replied simply. “I have one at home for nights that I struggle to find rest. They’ve been medically tested and proven to help those who are prone to anxiety and night terrors. I thought you might like to test that theory.” Will raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, sliding beneath the folded covers with a sigh.

“Did you-” he started. Hannibal simply nodded and placed the tray before him, turning to retrieve the cup of tea he’d prepared.

“I took the liberty of providing a little more comfort while you were bathing,” he explained, placing the tea onto the tray before picking up his own meal. “If you are to be under my care, I will do what I can to ensure your stay here, however brief, is as pleasant as it can be.” Will nodded absentmindedly, his focus on the tray in his lap. He took a moment to marvel at the dishes set before him before picking up his fork. Hannibal had prepared stir fry just as he asked, but it was the farthest thing from what he himself could do with the same ingredients. The chicken was seared to perfection, laying atop a rainbow hued mountain of vegetables. Beneath both sat a pillow of white rice, glistening with what must have been the sauce used on the vegetables. Will’s mouth watered just looking at it. Beside the main dish sat a small container of what appeared to be pale broth, which Hannibal informed him was his own recipe for egg drop soup. 

“Christ, I didn’t expect you to bring me this much,” Will said, oddly touched. He took a forkful, carefully selecting a bite that had a bit of everything, and placed it in his mouth. It was difficult to keep from groaning as the flavors burst across his tongue. He didn’t know when his eyes had fallen shut, but when he swallowed and opened them, Hannibal was watching him, amusement dancing in the warm depths of his maroon gaze. Flushing, Will concentrated on selecting another forkful.

They ate companionably, talking of small, easy things.

“Anywhere?” Will asked before taking another bite. Hannibal nodded.

“Anywhere to which you have not been previously.” The profiler thought about it for a moment.

“I’ve always wanted to see Italy,” he finally replied shyly. Hannibal’s eyes lit up, and he leaned forward eagerly abandoning his meal.

“My favorite place,” he murmured. “There is much to see, much to experience. Anything and everything that might strike your fancy. Tell me, Will. What is it that draws you there?” The profiler shrugged.

“Food and wine mostly,” he said with a small smile. Hannibal laughed. 

“There is plenty of both, to be sure. And music and art. Culture like we do not experience in the US. I believe you would enjoy yourself there… very much.” Will watched, fascinated at the life, the passion in the other man’s face as he spoke.

“You’ve been, then?” he asked, drinking down the remainder of his tea. Hannibal nodded enthusiastically.

“Many times,” he replied wistfully. “I spent much of my youth there, drawing in Uffizi Gallery, wandering through the streets of Palermo. My artwork is what earned me my internship at Johns Hopkins. I studied there, and eventually became a doctor, a surgeon. I practiced for several years, working emergency cases.” 

“You were a surgeon?” Will asked, fascinated. “What made you change careers?” Hannibal smiled gently, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. _One can only take so much unintentional death._ “Although I loved my position, I wanted to use my skills to work with the softer medicines. Fixing the mind and its maladies,” he clarified at the look of confusion on Will’s face. “While the body can be fragile, our mind remains strong and malleable. I have spent much of my time helping to create safety for others who are experiencing trauma, letting them push through their troubles in their own time. We as humans, with our constant need to go and make a difference in our own various ways, have forgotten that some things take time to heal, and I’d like to think that I’ve developed a way to make that happen.” 

Will watched the other man as he spoke, a tight warmth forming in his stomach as he listened. _God, he_ _’s so strong. Smart. Capable. The last person who should have to put up with a mess like me._ Hannibal took that moment to glance up, their eyes meeting for the briefest second. Whatever he saw in Will’s face made his own features soften.

“You are worth my time, Will,” he murmured quietly. The profiler stilled, wondering wildly if his thoughts were somehow imprinted on his skin. _How the hell did he know what I was thinking?_ Hannibal sighed and sat back in his chair. “Talk to me. Tell me what is currently troubling you, and why.” Will groaned, his eyes closing as he sank into the pillows behind him. _If the earth just swallowed me now, I_ _’d be perfectly fine with it. Save me from this answer and all the trouble I know it will cause._

Hannibal waited, his hands clasped loosely in his lap.

“It’s-…” Will took a breath and tried again. “Christ, I don’t know where to begin. You’re so passionate. About people. And places. I don’t feel it anymore. The fire that drives us.” He looked away, out the darkened window. “I haven’t felt it in a long time.” Warm fingers closed over his hand. Will’s heart leapt into his throat, pounding wildly at the gentle caress of fingers through his own.

“It’s easy to lose sight of who we are,” Hannibal soothed, “When we no longer have focus of what is important to us. Not what is expected, nor what others want _from_ us. But what means something _to_ us. What drives us to get up every morning, propels us through our days. You have spent so much of your time focused on Jack’s needs, you’ve neglected your own, to the point of forgetting why you are here.” Will felt the first hot tear spill down his cheek. The food, which had tasted so good when he ate, suddenly congealed in his stomach, turning at once into a leaden lump. _God, I_ _’m going to vomit on the clean sheets he provided. What then?_ Will’s stomach tightened around his dinner uncomfortably. _He_ _’ll leave. Like everyone else._

“I don’t know how to find my focus anymore, Hannibal,” he mumbled. “I don-don’t know-” The words were gone. Left in their place were sobs, hot and guttural, spilling from his soul and down his face in hot, embarrassed rivulets. He didn’t want to cry, not again, but he couldn’t seem to stop it either. Hannibal stood and moved the tray out of the way, climbing onto the bed to hold him. Weak, Will breathed in the doctor’s scent as he sobbed onto his chest. _God, I thought this was at an end. He_ _’s going to stop coming if I can’t keep it under control._

“Do not trouble yourself over your tears,” Hannibal murmured into his hair. “It is not your place to tell your sorrow to cease. Sadness, like every other emotion, has to run its course before it can dissipate.” He pulled the other man closer, sliding beneath the blanket so he could get his arms fully around him. Will noticed as his feet disappeared beneath the covers, that Hannibal had removed his shoes. The penguins retreated, hidden away under the weighted blanket. He closed his eyes and let his head fall to the doctor’s chest, his own heaving. Hannibal stroked his curls, fingers massaging his scalp. They sat for long minutes just as they were, words unneeded between them. As Will’s breathing returned to normal, Hannibal eased lower, pulling the other man to lay curled against his side, his head more firmly upon his chest. Weak, the profiler let the sound of Hannibal’s breathing stabilize his own.

“I am going to make a suggestion to you, Will,” Hannibal murmured quietly, stroking a hand down the profiler’s back. The sound of his voice rumbled into the profiler’s ear, where it lay upon his chest. Will stifled a groan at the contact, trying with all he had left within him to keep from embarrassing himself further. The need to be touched, for contact, felt like an ache, a physical pain that sank beneath his bones, into his very soul. Hannibal’s hands soothing down his back, even covered, felt better than anything he’d experienced in years. Will kept silent, waiting for him to continue.

“This is not an offer I make lightly, but I believe it is in the best interest of your recovery. I’d like you to take the next day to consider it, and when I return, we will discuss the next steps we need to take.” 

“Okay…” Will’s voice trembled. Hannibal took another breath, settling them both.

“I’d like you to come stay with me, in my home for a time,” he finally replied. “Although it’s not a common practice, you need more care and attention than you are going to receive from my visits, or from Doctor Chilton’s care. I would need to take a few hours a day to see to my regular patients, but I can spend most of your recovery at home, and can keep a much closer eye on your needs.” Will’s breath caught in his throat, the enormity of the offer being handed to him crashing through him like a bullet train, threatening to crush him beneath its weight. Hannibal stroked his hair, oblivious to the wreck of a man his words left in their wake.

“You do not need to make this decision now, but it would be best if you do so before Frederick can call for a hearing to hold you longer. I will be speaking with him on your behalf, but not without paperwork from Jack stating that you are to be released into my care.” Hannibal paused, letting the silence fill the air around them. If that’s what you want, of course.” Will nodded, afraid to speak. _Wants to take care of me. Wants to see to it that I get proper treatment. Willing to take me home with him. Oh god, I_ _’d be in his house, see him for hours every day-_

“I can’t promise it will be easier,” Hannibal continued, “but I would have more options for continuous treatment and you would have a less chaotic environment. I would need you to take on a minimal amount of responsibility for yourself in the time that I have to be away from you, but if we manage it with care-”

“Yes.” Hannibal stilled beneath where Will lay against him. 

“Will, I think you should take the time-” The profiler shook his head, leaning up to meet Hannibal’s gaze. His warm, maroon eyes held nothing but concern. Will took a deep breath, releasing it into the space between them, letting his nerves settle once more.

“I don’t need time, Doctor Lecter. You’re right. I already fight Chilton about everything. He’s… I think he’s been giving me medication? I tried to look at my chart, but he took it from me. I don’t know what’s in my system half the time, but I know that we have conversations I only half remember, and he’s been pressuring me, asking me to sign-” the doctor’s hand suddenly tightened against his scalp.

“Did you sign anything?” Hannibal asked sharply. Will stilled, feeling suddenly like a rabbit caught in the jaws of a wolf.

"N-no-” The other man relaxed fractionally, the hand in his hair loosening to stroke through his curls.

“Good. I should have known he’d try something like that. I’ll have a word with him this evening, and we will begin your transfer paperwork… if you’re certain.” The profiler took a deep breath and leaned up, balancing his weight on his own hands.

“If you’re willing to help me, I feel… better working with you towards some kind of normalcy,” he replied. Hannibal’s face softened.

“I will do everything in my power to help you, Will. That is a promise.” The profiler nodded. Hannibal slid off the bed and collected their dishes, placing the lids back on each container before stowing them away. When he returned, he carried a large container filled with brownies, his eyes glinting at Will’s obvious delight.

“You didn’t need to bring them all,” he laughed, taking one from the top. Hannibal selected his own before taking a seat in the chair by the bed.

“Perhaps not,” he confided, “But it will be worth the look on Jack’s face when he sneaks in to take another and they’re missing.” Will laughed before taking a large bite. As the chocolate hit his tongue, he groaned.

“Never mind. I take it back. You did need to bring them all.” Hannibal laughed and bit into his own.

“On that, we are in complete agreement.”

***

Will’s heart clenched at the sight of the psychiatrist packing up his belongings. It was well past 8, and he knew the other man had to be tired, but with the new possibilities that had opened to him, it was difficult to see him go. Hannibal finished with his bag, securing the containers within, before turning back to where Will reclined in bed. In his hands, he clutched another bag, one Will was sure he hadn’t seen strewn across the table with the rest. The doctor approached the bed and handed it to him with a smile. Curious, Will opened it and peered inside.

Contained within was a large brown leather bound book. The cover was soft and supple, its scent wafting up from its paper confines. Will pulled it out, marveling at its weight. When he opened it, the pages were completely blank. Peering back into the bag, he found another box, containing a ball point Mont Blanc pen filled with black ink. His eyes filling once again with tears, he gazed at the gifts in his hands, overwhelmed.

“I have kept a journal that contains my most intimate thoughts and feelings for as long as I’ve been able to write,” Hannibal murmured quietly. “I have found it soothing to expel them from my mind onto the pages of a book. I thought you might find some solace in doing the same.” Will nodded, unable to speak. His hands shook as he opened the pages, running his hands along the grain of the paper.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his eyes glistening. “Thank you so much.” Hannibal nodded and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“I will be leaving your company for the evening, but I am but a text or phone call away,” he soothed. “There is never a time of day that you can’t reach me.” Will nodded, rubbing his eyes. His hands came back wet, but for once, he didn’t care.

“I can’t explain-” he started, his voice catching on the words he tried to speak. Hannibal ran a hand through his curls.

“I can,” he replied. “Try to rest, and please let me know what you’d enjoy for you first meal in my home tomorrow night.” Will’s stomach twisted at the thought. _Home. Maybe not mine, but a home._ He nodded, grateful.

“Okay.” Hannibal collected his belongings and turned back to find the profiler watching him, his features filled with unrestrained need. _Soon. You won_ _’t need to worry quite so much when you don’t have another lurking in the shadows._

“Please text me when you get home,” Will called from the bed. “Just so I know you got there okay.” Hannibal nodded.

“I shall. Sleep well tonight, Will. Tomorrow is another day.” 

***

Hannibal stopped on his way to his car to request Will’s medical file. The woman at the front desk, a young blonde thing with big, round eyes too close to the color of Will’s for Hannibal’s comfort, nodded when he flashed his Bureau ID. 

“I’ll email them to you straight away, sir,” she stammered, her cheeks pink. Hannibal thanked her and made his way to his car, driving carefully home. His mind was still on Will, and the ominous treatments he was receiving at the hands of Frederick. _What are you willing to do to keep him in your care?_ He wondered. _Where would you draw the line, and what do you possibly hope to glean from your treatments?_ He turned onto the road that would lead him to his home, making a mental checklist of the tasks he’d need to complete before the morning.

He had a spare bedroom to set up. Emails to send to both Jack and Doctor Chilton… and the remains of a body he’d need to dispose of, the useful meat already packed away in his freezer. _It wouldn_ _’t do for Will to find anything amiss in his time under my care._ Suddenly grateful for his forethought into installing the panel that hid his basement door, Hannibal rubbed his eyes, already tired to the bone. 

It was going to be a long night.


End file.
